


Escutcheon

by jillyfae



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Crossover, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2012733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because there is not enough of Aveline in the world, standing between her people and their troubles. Or, just occasionally, knowing when to step back and let them to stand on their own. </p><p>(Also because Donnic is a delight and there should be more of him, too.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. unwavering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DragonReine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonReine/gifts), [Kit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PacRim AU; Dragonreine prompted Aveline or Mako for a 'make me choose' meme, and I sort of ... squished them together? While also choosing Aveline.

They whisper about her, behind her back.  She keeps her shoulders straight and her chin up and pretends she doesn’t hear.  But she does.

 _Jonah_  is by far the nicest thing they say.

After her father there was sympathy.  Hugs, drinks after shift, casseroles in her quarters provided by the people who always fed grief with food.

After Wesley …

After Wesley the dome echoes with all the things no one says to her.

Once is a tragedy.

Twice?  Twice is a curse, and no one thinks they should risk a third soul against her fate.

Except for the Marshal, of course, he’ll risk anyone and everything, if he could but find a willing body. Or a not so willing body that was drift-compatible and he could intimidate into cooperating.  He hasn’t managed it yet.

So she is alone in her own head, day after day after day.

Mostly alone at work, as well, too cautious footsteps and fleeting glances, only a few people willing to stand beside her.

But she’s too good at what she does to let her go.

So she trains and teaches and spars with those who are lucky enough to be able to hope for their chances to fight.  

She helps the tech crews make the armor better, and is working on a project with young Mako to design a deployable shield of the same interlocking sort of pieces as her sword.

Not that they’ve gotten the sword to work yet  _either_ , but they’re good ideas.

They’ll get there.

And it’s not enough.  

She’s not enough, not here on the ground, stuck in her fragile human body, no longer able to stand between her people and monsters from the sea.

She feels as broken as her poor jaeger, too damaged to ever be put back together.

And unlike her jaeger, they can’t even scavenge her for parts to make the others stronger.

But she pretends, because she has to, because the world may be ending but it’s not there yet, so there’s no time to stop, no chance to give up.

And sometimes, for just a moment when the newest recruit smiles at her at lunch, she forgets she’s pretending, and smiles back, and remembers what it was like to have friends.

Ridiculous haircut, that Donnic, but he does have the nicest smile.


	2. gilded cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [dragon age drabbles](http://dragonagedrabbles.tumblr.com/post/47964518674/aveline-vallen-bethany-hawke) prompt: Aveline & Bethany "like a caged bird"

"They’ve been gone too long, haven’t they?"  Bethany tilted her head back far enough to look at the rafters high above the nave, the vaulted ceiling shadowed and dim despite the candles and sunlight warming the air around them.  There was a dark red swath crossing the white of her sleeve from the colored glass in the windows, and it was hard not to think of it as a sign. She didn’t want to look at it anymore, imagine pale skin and her sister’s blood spilled deep underground.

"Perhaps."  Aveline didn’t quite nod, didn’t quite agree, but didn’t refute the point either.

"The Seneschal keeps rescheduling mother’s meeting with the Viscount."

"Waiting to see if she’ll get the coin to back up her claim?"

"Rather thoughtful of him, actually."  Bethany shrugged slightly, let her head fall forward until she was staring at Andraste’s statue.  "That way the Viscount isn’t forced to turn her down.  Yet."

"Only so long he can do that, now that Hightown’s watching your mother."

"Only so long," Bethany agreed softly, refusing to turn and meet Aveline’s eyes, though she could feel the steady gaze against her skin.  "Someone’s likely to notice me, if they keep staring for much longer."

"Especially if your Uncle or someone from the Red Iron thinks they can make some coin off of it?"

"Harboring an apostate will get her claim thrown out."

"And her thrown on the ‘mercy’ of the Templar’s Court, if someone makes a fuss."  Aveline’s voice was soft, and steady.  They both knew where this conversation was going.

"Nobles always make a fuss."

"The Knight-Captain seems a good man."  Aveline shifted, just enough, her fingers strong as they wrapped around Bethany’s hand.  "He follows the rules of his Order quite exactingly."

"He might not smile, but neither will he smite me without cause?"

"I think that’s probably accurate."

"So I just have to work up the nerve to see him, then."

"He comes to evening services."  Aveline’s hand squeezed, just once, slow and warm.  "We just have to wait."

"I have to wait, you mean."  Bethany shook her head before Aveline could argue.  "You haven’t been sworn in as Guard Captain yet.  Associating with a known apostate could ruin it."

Aveline’s jaw tightened, but she nodded, and drew her hand back.

"I am what I am.  There’s no escaping it."  Bethany closed her eyes and sighed.  "It would be nice to be in a cage that didn’t hold my family as well."

She felt the soft brush of Aveline’s kiss farewell against her forehead, and closed her eyes even tighter as she listened to heavy bootsteps walk away.


	3. tangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr meme response; "upside-down kiss" prompted by [vieralynn](http://vieralynn.tumblr.com%22)

He grins at her.

As if half hanging off the lofts in the barracks is a  _perfectly normal_ sort of thing to be doing.

"Guardsman."

"Captain."  His grin doesn't waver, though his shoulders shift in what she thinks is a shrug.  It's a bit hard to tell from this angle.  "Slight complication fixing the braces.  I'll be right down."

She tilts her head, follows the line of his leg to see a boot caught in the rope next to the rolled up mat at the foot of the frame.

"Would an extra hand be useful, Guardsman?"

His lips twitch, and she can practically see the thought process as he decides not to make a presumably terribly inappropriate comment.  "It might indeed, Captain."

Remarkably professional, her Donnic, even when hanging upside down off a slightly wobbly bunk bed.

But they are completely alone, and her husband is quite wonderfully adorable, so she steps forward and kisses him, soft and quick, her nose brushing against his chin, and is rather secretly delighted at how very still he goes, at how peaceful his face looks when she steps back.  "Shall we then?"

His grin is back, even brighter than before, and he braces his shoulder against hers as they both reach for the ropes tangled around his ankle.


	4. cold feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for [carrionqueen](http://carrionqueen.tumblr.com/) / [nightquill](http://nightquill.tumblr.com/) from a very very old prompt meme request for "Costume, Isabela and Aveline"

Isabela: You should be grateful.  
Aveline: For?  
Isabela: Look at this outfit! Sleeves, trousers, sandals. If someone tries to kill me today they might actually succeed because I can barely even move.  
Aveline: I would never be so lucky.  
Isabela: Oh, that's nice, really.  
Aveline: At least you have trousers.  
Isabela: Shush, you look lovely.  
Aveline: You have some sort of pox? Did it give you a fever? That sounded almost nice.  
Isabela: I could stab you, if that'd make you feel better.  
Aveline: Might.  
Isabela: But think of poor Donnic, trying to get married, seeing you all bloody just because you were nervous about your dress and provoked me horribly.  
Aveline: ...  
Isabela: There's my big girl. Blush just like that, he'll go wild.  
Aveline: Will you please shut up. Just once.  
Isabela: Never.  
Aveline: ...  
Aveline: Thank you.


	5. lost and found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> while this is technically from the same Thedas-verse as Adelaide Hawke and my _Sweetest of All Sounds_ -verse, it seemed more important to keep the Aveline fic together than to add another chapter to _Hawke's Shadow_. 
> 
> Sometimes I have trouble figuring out this archiving thing? Hopefully this works.
> 
> Originally from a "Merrill or Aveline" make-me-choose prompt by [probablylostrightnow](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/92599109243). Immediately post-game.

”You’re not going back?”

Despite having known her for years, having seen the surge of her power and the sharp edge of her temper, having watched her stand up beneath a grief strong enough to break the world, whenever Merrill ducked her head and twisted her heel in the dirt, Aveline had an instant’s desire to pat her on the head and offer her a cookie to soothe her troubles.

It always took a moment to send such an image away again before she could answer.

"I don’t think we’d any of us be welcome back."

"But," and there Merrill finally lifted her head, eyes wide and luminous, doing nothing the help banish the illusion of simplicity of character.  "You protected them, while we were at the Gallows. Wouldn’t they …"

"Everyone knows I am loyal to Hawke."

"But isn’t Kirkwall your home?"  She bit her lip this time, and Aveline felt a faint stirring of something between her lungs. Anticipation, perhaps? Merrill was clearly going somewhere with this beyond a question of simple logistics.

"I’ve left home before."  The  _as have you_  hung heavy between them.

"And you made home again."  She rocked up on her toes,  _this_ , this then was the important part.

"No."  Aveline shook her head, held up a hand to forestall Merrill’s inevitable interruption.  She always talked too quickly to finish a thought properly, in Aveline’s opinion.  "I was lucky enough that home found me."

Aveline swallowed, and let her gaze shift, slowly enough Merrill could follow along as she turned towards Donnic where he had settled next to Fenris, the two of them content in their lack of conversation. “You of all people know that home isn’t a place.”

Merrill’s head dropped, tension singing through shoulders and hips down into the ground.  ”But we’re going to lose that too, aren’t we?”

"Perhaps.  But I don’t think quite yet."

Merrill’s quick glance back up was sharp, the line of her jaw hard enough to slice through skin and soul, but before she could let her thoughts free, Isabela swooped in, all warmth and laughter, her eyes soft in that way they only got around Merrill.

"Kitten!  Come along, Hawke’s insisting we go overland because of all the refugees, I need you to help me deal with the caravan master she’s thinking of hiring."

"Me?"  Merrill was startled enough all tension fled, leaning back on her heels, eyes wide and hands loose as she turned towards Isabela.

"You helped with the halla, right?"  Isabela lifted a single shoulder in a quick shrug, moving along before Merrill could think too much about her lost Clan.  "You have  _got_  to have a better eye for horses than me or  _Hawke._ ”

Aveline swallowed something that might have turned into a bark of laughter.  Hawke practically shuddered at the very  _idea_  of horses.  It seemed unlikely she’d be willing to get close enough to check their teeth and hooves.

"You too, big girl."  Isabela turned her bright smile on Aveline.  "You can scare him into being honest.  You’re good at that."

"Because you’ve never dealt with a cheating merchant in your life, then?"

"My type of scaring only works if I’m sailing away the next day.  We’re going to have to put up with him for the whole trip, aren’t we?"

"I suppose we are."  Aveline turned to Merrill, who was finally smiling again, small and uncertain, but there.  "Shall we, then?"


	6. sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so, I have unfortunately lost track of the original tumblr post (tumblr is terrible for finding things, I really should stop using it as a primary internet/interaction sphere) but I had three different prompts/requests that combined quite nicely ... an anonymous one: "How about something about Aveline and her papa? He raised her on stories of valor and was 100% supportive of her becoming a warrior" and [twistedsinews'](http://twistedsinews.tumblr.com) delightful "ITTY BITTY AVELINE DRAGGING ABOUT HER FATHER’S SWORD AND SLAYING IMAGINARY DRAGONS PLEASE!" and [emby's](http:/spiritofemby.tumblr.com) lovely: "Aveline and Marian, Marian helping her get ready on her wedding day?"
> 
> Though I ignored Marian and did my Adelaide instead. (So this is, again, technically in the _Sweetest of All Sounds_ -verse, but I'm putting it here. Because Aveline.

_Red gold as sunset._

That’s what the tailor said at the fitting, when she was attempting to think up something nice about fiery hair and too many freckles.

Aveline would prefer to be the sunrise, just this once, just for this particular day. She wanted to be a reminder of light, not dark, of beginnings, not endings, of something soft and lingering.

But she’d never been light, or soft, not even when she was a child. Solid as a rock, even as a toddler, with impossible red hair that she could never hide. Always standing out in a crowd.

Not that she wanted to hide, really. That implied shame, or fear, and by five she knew she didn’t want fear to ever get the better of her. She was going to be a warrior, like her father, even if she couldn’t lift his sword. Yet.

She tried with one of his wooden training blades, dragging it out to the woods to practice slaying dragons, and ogres, and bandits.

And once she pretended the bush she demolished was her neighbor Samuel, because he’d been so very mean, teasing her about her hair, and her father’s accent. She never told anyone about that. It wasn’t right to kill a boy just because he’d hurt your feelings.

It was a temptation she had trouble with all her life, however. The urge to hit the stupid out of people. She mostly refrained.

Usually because she could imagine her father’s face, the slight pinch between his brows as he held in the sigh, and the frown, as he gathered her up to tell her, yet again, the story of a properly chivalrous knight who never struck first. (Which quite clearly meant don't hit people just for being stupid.)

Her father had given her away the first time she got married.

She wished her father could meet Donnic. She thought they’d have liked each other, for all Donnic shared her inability to understand the appeal of courtly rules. They’d both appreciated good leatherwork and good ale. They were both lousy at cards but never let losing bother them. They both always smiled when they saw her.

Her father had tried so very hard to be proud of her, even when he thought she let her honor slip too easily between her fingers. He’d always admired her footwork, when he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Not that that had happened often. He’d been a good man, and he’d trained her well, sword and duty and family. And always footwork. Couldn’t take a hit if you didn’t plant your feet. Couldn’t dodge a swing if you didn’t know where to put your toes.

She wasn’t sure she’d impress him, today, small careful steps in leather wrapped sandals, so very different from her usual heavy boots.

She felt ridiculous, fragile white cloth wrapped around a frame too thick and sturdy to deserve it.

Maker, she was nervous. Desperately so.

She’d been so happy just a breath before, but now, all she could think was how much she knew now, that she hadn’t known on her first wedding day.

How much she could lose. How much it hurt. She’d been so young when she’d met Wesley, foolish and hopeful and convinced they’d have it all. And then her father died, and they’d been separated so often by duty, and then Lothering.

She’d failed him. She didn’t think she could bear it, if she failed again, if she lost Donnic.

_So don’t lose him._

Easier said than done.

Not even easily said, really. Why were words such slippery things, so hard to wrangle into straight lines and clear meanings?

_I love him._

_He loves me._

_Everything else is just details._

But she of all people knew how tragedy could strike on the turn of the smallest detail, on the slightest misstep, on the loss of a simple signal.

She wasn’t sure she could make herself step out of Hawke’s bedroom and parade down the stairs for the ceremony.

She was going to trip on the rug and fall on her face and Donnic would suddenly realize what a dreadful idea this was, marrying her, and run off while he still could…

That wasn’t remotely like Donnic at all. What was she doing?

Aveline let out one heavy sigh, and sat down in front of Hawke’s vanity. _Breathe. Pin on veil. Go get married. I can do this._

A soft knock sounded, and she turned even as Hawke’s head poked carefully around the edge of the frame.

"Oh," one soft sigh accompanied her as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Her eyes were wide, her mouth softening into a smile Aveline had never seen before. She didn’t know what it meant, and felt a sudden urge to squirm, to tug on the lace around her throat so she could take a proper breath.

_I look ridiculous._

"Oh, no, you look beautiful." Hawke’s smile widened, the blink of her eyes slow, the color in her eyes almost damp as she tilted her head back and sniffed to avoid clumping the kohl in her lashes. "Donnic is a very lucky man."

Aveline hated blushing. The perils of red hair and pale skin and freckles. She’d mostly trained herself out of it, but at that, the soft note in her friend’s voice, and the thought of the day to come, she felt the heat spread across her cheeks. And still she smiled. "I’m a lucky woman, too."


	7. quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is [Cori's](http://teadrinkingdragon.tumblr.com) fault. Or, erm. It was her prompt, anyways.
> 
> "Ooh, maybe a quiet moment with Aveline and Donnic after a crazy day?

Some days, she would get home, and walk as quietly as she could to the corner with the armour stand, take each piece off as slowly and carefully as possible, and still, when she was done, she would feel the weight of the plate pressing down against her shoulders, could feel the ache of her responsibilities along the curve of her spine. 

Somehow, Donnic always knew. No matter how much she thought she kept it in, no matter how well she thought she could handle her duties, he always knew. 

She would hear the soft slide of his feet against the floor, (he always took his boots off before he’d even managed two full steps inside, a sigh and a stretch and wiggling toes), feel the warmth of his lips as he dropped a kiss precisely in the middle of her shoulders upon the knob of her spine, the press of his hands, fingers digging into every knot, every worry, the both of them still standing beside her armour until her shoulders finally eased, and his hands slid down her spine, and she turned around to see him smile. 


	8. history

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I actually kept track of this one! Original prompt from the ever lovely/brilliant/enthusiastically creative hornkerling, for [Aveline/Donnic "second loves"](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/82028916682)

Her name had been Susannah. She’d gotten a fever, just two moons before they were to be wed. It had seemed minor, a thing to joke over while they’d been sitting on her parent’s roof, counting the stars that were bright enough to peek through Kirkwall’s ever-present smog.

It hadn’t been minor though, and only a week later she’d been dead, her wedding clothes packed away in her hope chest, donated to the Chantry as part of the death duties.

Aveline didn’t know what Donnic’s Susannah had looked like, but she knew she'd loved to tell terrible convoluted jokes and puns, building the punchline to ridiculous levels, grinning when she was done, as everyone else groaned, until she couldn’t hold in the laughter any longer, and snorted aloud, suddenly enough she’d always made herself blush at the sound.

Donnic never brought Aveline flowers, because he knew that had been what Wesley did, every time he came back home again. (Or had them waiting in a vase, if she was the one who’d had to leave.) Even if it was out of season, and the best he could find were the dried blooms from the apothecary the next village over, Wesley never returned empty handed, never let her come back to a home too dark or drab to be welcoming.

Every year, on _All Soul’s Day,_ Aveline and Donnic would bow their heads for the Mother’s blessings, recite their parents’ names, and Susannah’s, and Wesley’s, hands clasped together as they remembered their pasts, only letting their fingers slide apart when it was time to hold their glasses, to toast their pasts with sacramental wine.

Then Donnic would lean in close, one soft kiss pressed against her cheek, and she would smile at him, and they would return home together.


	9. Augusta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a complete failure to AU, for [clio](http://servantofclio.tumblr.com)

Her very first toy was a doll, rags and neat stitches and shiny button eyes.

Her mother made it for her, and in her earliest memories she was already worn and well used. She was the Lady whom Chevalier Aveline rescued during the day, and the pillow she hugged closer than her blankets during the night.

Her name was Augusta, for a mother and warrior both.

Aveline left her behind without a second glance, when she left to serve as a page for the Bann.

She laughed when her father gave her back as a wedding present, though her eyes felt too bright and hot, and Wesley's hand lingered against her spine, just between her shoulder-blades, a warm and solid comfort.

He knew.

He always knew, all the thing she never could decide how to say.

The first night out of Gwaren, when she could finally lower her guard as Hawke took watch, she realized she'd never see Augusta again, her left in a home she'd never see either, and she ached at the loss of a familiar smile, of rounded horn and faded linen, of the feel of the buttons that no longer shone, but settled smooth and warm against her fingertips.

Her cloak was not nearly as good a pillow as her Augusta had been, though it absorbed the hot drip of the tears that escaped her almost as well.


	10. Rules of Chivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka, Aveline's initial reaction to the oaths set before her when her father bought her a knighthood, and why she greatly prefers being a Guard.
> 
> (These 'rules' are slightly paraphrased from the version of the chivalric code in _The Song of Roland_.)
> 
> This was originally posted as a stand-alone ficlet, but I realized, after posting this collection, that it fit ever so much better in with the rest of them. :)

  * To fear the Maker and support the Chantry



_Isn't that what the Templars are for?  I doubt they'd appreciate my help._

  * To serve the liege lord in valour and faith



_That is rather the point, isn't it?  Why isn't that first?_

  * To protect the weak and defenceless



_I need an oath to do that?  If you need an oath to remind you to do that, you're probably not the sort of person who should be given a sword with which to hit things._

  * To give succour to widows and orphans



_What if I die? Are the rest of the knights going to give succour to my theoretical husband?_

  * To refrain from the wanton giving of offence



_And yet again ... if you wander around giving offence a'purporse, why did anyone let you be a knight in the first place?_

  * To live by honour and for glory



_In my experience, searching for glory rather negates the honour bit.  Hard to do both.  Whoever wrote these things was an idiot._

  * To despise pecuniary reward



_Oh, and I'm to live off the King's smiles and pretty hair then?  He better pay me.  I do my work, I deserve to be fed, don't I?_

  * To fight for the welfare of all



_Well. Alright then. I like that one._

  * To obey those placed in authority



_Even if they're idiots? Like the one who wrote this thing?  Ah well.  There have to be rules.  There has to be a chain of command.  I can obey my lord if it means a decided lack of chaos._

  * To guard the honour of fellow knights



_As long as I'm not guarding their search for glory.  Glory gets the bystanders killed, after all.  But it's important to trust your shield-mates.  Why couldn't it just say that, then?  To guard and protect your fellow knights?  That's much better._

  * To eschew unfairness, meanness and deceit



_Who is taking these blasted oaths?  If they're deceitful, do you really think making them promise not to be is going to make a damn bit of difference?  They'll just lie about that, too._

  * To keep faith



_In what?  In myself? In my King? In the Maker and his Bride?  I refuse to keep faith with the hounds, after all.  Mabari are quite bright, but should not be in charge of the barracks._

  * At all times to speak the truth



_Obviously.  Didn't I just promise not to lie two oaths ago?  They really seem to have had trouble with that one, haven't they?  That's not particularly encouraging._

  * To persevere to the end in any enterprise begun



_And yet another good one, buried in the middle._

  * To respect the honour of women



_I hate you, whoever you are who wrote this, whoever else approved it, and everyone who's ever sworn by it without complaint.  I'm not sure if you're saying women can't handle their honour on their own, or men are undeserving of respect, but either way I feel a very strong urge to hit you all about the head until you're never allowed out of bed again._

  * Never to refuse a challenge from an equal



_Oh that's just asinine.  Dueling? Really? I'm obligated to accept a duel from any old idiot who happens to also be a knight?  I mean, judging from all the oaths about behaving yourself, there are quite a lot of idiots of rank._

_Perhaps I'll claim I'm obviously of inferior rank and they should just go on their way._

  * Never to turn the back upon a foe



_Who would be stupid enough to do that?  That means they'll hit you when you're not looking, doesn't it?  I suppose unless they've taken a few too many hits to the head themselves and think these rules of chivalry are actually sensible._

_Maker protect us all from idiot nobles._


End file.
